


Use Me, Break Me

by CaptainStormChaser



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Ass to Mouth, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, Jaskier has been reading bodice rippers, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainStormChaser/pseuds/CaptainStormChaser
Summary: “Shut up.” Julian’s jaw snapped shut. That seemed to please the witcher, who moved farther up the bed. He grasped Julian’s jaw, turning his face side to side before releasing him. “You’ll do fine. Perhaps tell your lord father something about paying his debts.”Or,Jaskier makes a very specific request of his witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 318
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	Use Me, Break Me

There was a sound waking him from the very edge of sleep; the hinge on the door needing oil about a quarter of the way open.

The bedclothes put a gauzy film over what little could be seen in the darkness. “Is someone there?” Julian called, sitting up.

Silence greeted him. No footsteps, no breathing, and then the whisper as the bedclothes were parted and a figure stood at the end of Julian’s bed.

It wasn’t Karl from the stables, with the heavy trod from being trod upon himself by horses, nor was it Lisette in the kitchens, who always knocked and brought a tray of nibbles as insurance in case she were caught.

The dark dark clothing—true black even, like staring into a void, worn by only the most fashionable and privileged and those able to spend time in the company of the foul creatures whose blood was used for dye. Combined with the complete lack of pigment from skin or hair, a haunting white in the dark, and the flickering of eyes that reflected what little starlight he had to go by back at Julian, he recognized the figure.

“Master witcher,” Julian sighed. “You quite startled me. I thought your business here was finished, our foul fowl problem remedied. I, erm, don’t suppose there’s something I can do for you?”

Julian noticed now the quiet creaking of leather, whether by virtue of his own notice or the witcher no longer making a conscious effort to go unheard, he didn’t know.

His voice was rougher than Julian had expected. “My payment.”

Julian blinked, pulling the sheets up over his chest, noting how the strange reflective eyes followed the motion. “I believe the steward may be abed at this hour,” he laughed awkwardly.

The witcher growled. There was no other word for it. Something was tossed onto the bed beside him, the jingling sound of it informing Julian that it was likely a pouch of coin. “I’ve seen the steward. Your lord father decided my services lacking.” The bed dipped as the witcher put his knees on the edge.

Julian swallowed. “I’m sure if you made an appeal in the morning,”

“No. I’m not playing any more noble games. I’ll take what I’m owed.” The witcher wasn’t raising his voice, Julian noted. Just keeping the low volume with the harsh tone. Like beyond the bedclothes was another place entirely, their realm of existence reduced merely to the size of Julian’s bed.

“And you will!” Julian nodded. “I’ll see my father first thing, vouch for you even,”

“I’m leaving tonight.” The witcher said. “And I’m not leaving without payment in full, pup.”

Julian shook his head. “I have no coin,” he tried explaining. His allowance was locked up in the family vault, really only paid out in bills. The coin never touched his hands.

“I never said anything about money.”

Julian didn’t like the way the witcher’s eyes roamed him, appraisingly. He swallowed thickly. “If you could only wait until morning,”

“Shut up.” Julian’s jaw snapped shut. That seemed to please the witcher, who moved farther up the bed. He grasped Julian’s jaw, turning his face side to side before releasing him. “You’ll do fine. Perhaps tell your lord father something about paying his debts.”

Julian had opened his mouth to protest, but the hand previously on his cheek had wrapped around his neck, squeezing until his head grew light. The mattress shifted beneath them, and he had the full breadth of the witcher caging him in. He swallowed thickly, and the witcher chuckled, offering Julian a peek of the starlight glinting off of sharp teeth.

The sound of buckles brought Julian back to himself, grabbing for the hand at his throat but finding it unmovable. He tried to kick away, but found his legs trapped by the sheets. His strength was kittenish compared to this man. The witcher loosened his grip, and a flood of blood had Julian’s head throbbing. It was only to rip away the sheets, leaving Julian exposed to the air.

“Couldn’t even bother to dress after your bath, lordling?” A low voice purred dangerously. “It’s like you were waiting for me. You were, weren’t you? I noticed how you looked at me.”

Julian shook his head, trying to squirm away, but the hand returned to his neck—not to cut off air, or blood, merely to remind him to keep still.

Then the rough hands were picking him up, as though he weighed nothing, and turning him over. One held his hip, dragging his ass up into the air. The other gripped the back of his neck, positioning him face down amongst the pillows. When that second hand released him, the witcher didn’t protest Julian lifting his head, gulping in shallow breaths of air. His elbows and knees supported him, though they nearly gave out at the press of a thumb over his hole.

The witcher hummed, evidently pleases with the sight of it, and Julian combatted a dry sob.

“Wait,” he said urgently. “Please, I... I have oil.”

That certainly got the witcher’s attention. He stilled, but made no sound, following to the bedside table where Julian at last pointed. He wasn’t beyond reason at least, recognizing that fucking Julian dry would be a discomfort to them both.

There was the sound of the lid being removed from the little pot, disguised as a candle in the Skellige fashion, and then there was the cool press of the thick ointment at Julian’s rim that was as much a fresh horror as it was a relief. Perfunctory circles of the pad of a finger had him giving a shuddering sound. The witcher pulled away, the sound telling Julian that he were applying the excess oil to his cock. Appreciated, he supposed.

The witcher spread Julian’s cheeks wide between his hands, spitting onto his abused hole. Julian shivered, the saliva dribbling slowly down and tickling his balls before it dripped onto the sheets.

Was there a point to that, truly, or was it merely distraction for the witcher lining up the blunt head of his cock with Julian’s rim and pushing past that first bit of resistance. Sweet Melitele, the ointment may not have been sufficient.

Julian whined, high and needy, as the witcher used his weight to leverage himself into Julian. Past the point where he could practically feel it in his _throat_ , Julian felt the wiry hair of the witcher against his balls and ass, the humid heat as their sacks made contact.

It was a divine sort of agony, the unhesitant thrusts inside him, the cruel jabs and brushes over his prostate that had him shivering while the witcher still held his hip, preventing him from squirming away.

He was quite certain this was what being trampled by cattle felt like. He had no control over the shuddering force as his bed knocked against the wall and his body shook. The air was punched from his lungs on each stroke, and he feared he may be drowning.

Turned out he absolutely had access to sufficient air. He noticed this right after he no longer could breathe. A hand grasped his throat, below his chin, and hauled his head back to expose his neck. Not stopping his assault, the witcher grazed his sharp teeth over Julian’s skin.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, no.”

The witcher growled, biting down, _hard_ , on the join at his shoulder. Julian sobbed, the spot throbbing with pain even when the witcher lifted away, licking at the livid bruise he surely left.

It was too good, too much, the contrast as further bites and bruises marred his skin doing things to him that supplemented the cock slamming deep inside him.

Julian shook, sobbing with relief when the witcher grunted, a splash of heat filling him. Gods, there was so much. It made a sick squelching noise, fucking his seed deeper into Julian.

The witcher didn’t stop, didn’t falter. His hips remained constant, and Julian realized with dawning horror the coarse words whispered among schoolboys and the raunchy rhymes about sorceresses held some truth to them; even after an orgasm, the witcher was still as hard as steel, fucking Julian at a punishing pace.

Julian thought his prostate may be bruised, for how roughly the witcher was using him. One particular thrust had him arching his back with a sob, his cock giving a feeble twitch as he spilled against the sheets.

He felt dirty, used up as the witcher didn’t even hesitate to continue. Strong hands held him down, teeth scraped over his shoulder. The pressure inside him was too much, truly painful, and Julian whimpered in distress.

The witcher could be merciful, it seemed, for he pulled his cock out. It still slapped against Julian’s hole in a reminder that the witcher hadn’t finished with him yet.

“Turn over.” That sharp voice ordered. He slapped Julian’s ass when he took too long on his shaking hands and knees. The best Julian could muster was a roll.

He feared the witcher would penetrate him again, force him to watch the savage face while he was violated, but soon the tree trunk thighs were bracing his ribs in, nearly sitting on his chest, and the witcher eliminated any doubt as to his intentions by gripping Julian’s jaw in one hand and his rigid cock in the other.

“Be good for me, and I won’t track down whoever else is fucking you and slit their throats.” The witcher growled, squeezing Julian’s face until his mouth opened, then he was thrusting inside.

Julian thought of Karl, and Lisette, then of Celia and Markus and Deidre and Asra. Witchers had noses better than blood hounds. How far back on Julian’s list of lovers would he be able to go?

His eyes squeezed shut, Julian let his jaw go limp and tried to relax his throat for the first heavy thrust inside. He was fairly talented with blowjobs, he thought, when he was allowed tricks. Deft movement of his tongue, hands gripping the balls. The witcher had no interest besides testing Julian’s gag reflex, fucking his face. Julian couldn’t help the hot tears sliding down his cheeks, one brushed aside by a rough thumb and shoved past his lips.

The ache in his jaw had him whining in discomfort, and the witcher answered by taking hold of his hair, shoving deep into his throat. Julian caught the bitter taste of seed, nearly choking as the witcher came hot down his throat.

Julian gasped for breath, throat raw and lungs working to replace lost oxygen.

“I’m here,” the witcher murmured, harsh edge to his voice lost. He got off of Julian, off the bed entirely, tenderly maneuvering their surroundings.

Julian felt his body laid out on the fine sheets, then rolled over onto the clean side of his bed. Eyes closed, he breathed slowly while he heard movement around the room. The bed dipped, and then a wet rag was wiping carefully between his legs, a tender kiss laid to his brow.

“Drink,” the witcher coaxed, and his hand behind Julian’s head had him sitting up and accepting a few sips of cool water.

Firm hands massaged his thighs, working out some of the tension in them, moving up his buttocks and lower back.

“Are you still awake, my lark?”

Julian hadn’t realized he’d started drifting, and gave a hum in the affirmative. Then there was a weight settling beside him, half on top of him. He pushed into the witcher’s side.

“Was it what you imagined?”

Julian nodded. “More than,” he replied. “Thank you.”

Beneath the roof of a somewhat upscale inn, Jaskier fell asleep, thoroughly fucked out, in Geralt’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. Okay. Comment and kudos if you want.


End file.
